


Tara the Vampire Slayer

by 19thsentry



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: AU, And a bunch of people doing the best they can, Gen, Multi, Some magic, fun times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/19thsentry/pseuds/19thsentry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Faith slips away in a coma, a new Slayer is called, and she really has no idea what's going on. </p><p>I'll be adding more characters and relationships as I go, but for the most part I'll dip into canon and see where that takes us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tara the Vampire Slayer

When your mother dies, you have to deal with the fact that you were right next to her, but your back was turned, so you never got to say goodbye one last time. After it happens, the emptiness is something you’ll never forget, because everything is silent except for your heart—and the beat is so loud and ragged you want to die too. When your mind clears and you realize that the woman on the bed is really dead, all you can do is stare with watery eyes. Your throat tries to work out some sort of noise, but the emptiness fills your lungs, and you can’t even really sob.

When your mother dies, so goes with her the stories of your grandmother, so goes with her the quiet moments when your father and brother were gone and you both ate small bits of chocolate and reveled in the secrecy of it all, because they would never know, could never know, although you feared they might somehow find out. So goes with her the wonders of magic, so goes with her the reminders of balance, and that though they were cursed with the blood of demons, the magic could still be beautiful, even if it was rooted in evil.

When your mother dies and the shock finally wears off, you feel a slice of betrayal, because how would you survive in a family and a town that saw you as a burden, that hated your very blood? How could she leave you alone to deal with it by yourself? You think that she probably wanted to die, to leave behind the hate and eyes that scoured you until you felt there was nothing clean or good about you. Oh, and you hate her, for just a moment, just for one moment in that quiet night. Everyone else had gone to sleep, leaving you alone to check on your mother one more time before you went to bed too, but now she’s dead, and you hate her.

When your mother dies and you hate her for leaving you, you can swear you can feel the demon itself, so pure in your blood that you suddenly fear it more than ever—fear it now more than when your father tells you how wrong you are, or than when your priest tells you that you’re bound for hell, or than when the bag boy at the grocery store wants you to do what he says because you don’t matter anyway (and now that your mother is dead, there is no one to save you before something happens). You fear it more now than you do when you wake up from nightmares of demons and glowing, burning eyes of yellow and red and the deepest black you’ve ever seen. You fear the demon in you now, more than when you were afraid that that is what you would look like on the inside, on the day of your twentieth birthday.

When your mother dies, the hatred that was there disappears as quickly as it came, and in its place comes rushing in the loss and the pain. Now you are able to sob, because you feel so guilty and you just can’t believe that she’s really gone, and that you’ll never see her again.

When your mother dies, and you’re standing in front of the fresh grave where they laid her body down, you have to deal with everyone your parents ever met. You have to accept the touching and the hugs and the men that tell you to listen to your father and that your mother was a part of God’s plan, and that the demon blood in her veins stopped her from going to heaven, but that she obeyed him best she could in life because she behaved as your father asked her to. You have to listen to their wives come up to you and tell you to be thankful for your father and to count your blessings. You have to listen as they all tell your brother how sorry they are, but to keep an eye on you, because your mother let the demon take over when her mother died, and it could be the same with you, so he had to watch you so your father didn’t have to worry. You have to be grateful that your cousin Beth is coming to live with you, so that she can make sure the house gets taken care of while the family is grieving.

When your mother dies, you’re alone in the world. You “behave” without saying a single word to anyone, you sneak out at night and find a group of people who don’t mind that you drink with them, as long as you have the money to pay them for the alcohol. You learn how to drink without making a face, and you go back home and curl in bed and wait for the next day to begin, and you feel dead already.

When your mother dies, you don’t think you’ll ever feel that much pain again. And oh, how wrong you end up being. You don’t realize what’s happening that night, laying in your bed, and how could you, really? The pain breaks through you, molds you, changes you. It feels like every cell in your body is bursting—exploding and ripping apart, and every nerve is so on fire you can’t even tell that they’re coming back together again. The pain comes so quickly you can’t even scream, you aren’t so sure your voice works anymore anyway. The aftershocks roll through you, and you realize your cheeks are wet from the tears that have tracked down your face. Your confusion is so total, it blocks out the panic.

Twenty. They said twenty. You’re only seventeen—almost eighteen.

The demon came early, and you’re terrified. Your mother never told you it felt like this—she never spoke about the power she felt running through her. You’re sure you would remember, too, because if your mother had felt like this…why would she ever stay in a town like theirs, population count 200 hundred? Why would she put up with the hate? Why did she never lash out? Was she so afraid?

You realize, in a moment of real clarity, that you’re afraid too. You’re afraid of them.

  
That night, you pack your bags. Just the small things, the things that really matter. It isn’t a lot. That’s okay, really, because you can’t carry much. Your feet are so light as you move down the staircase, you don’t think you’ve ever been so quiet, and that scares you too. You find someone with a car, one of those people who let you buy alcohol from them, and they drive you out of town when you pay them gas money. You catch a bus. You don’t know where it’s headed, and you don’t care, only that it goes far, far away.

You close your eyes and let fate guide you.

When your mother dies, a door closed.

That night, you ran through a different door, one you never knew existed, and you would never know it until the day the dreams all made sense.


End file.
